


Reflex

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Tiger & Bunny
Genre: Established Relationship, Honeymoon, M/M, Married Couple, Morning Sex, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Barnaby wakes up to Kotetsu talking into his hair." Kotetsu wakes Barnaby up, and Barnaby gets revenge, and they both take advantage of their honeymoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflex

Barnaby wakes up to Kotetsu talking into his hair.

It’s not intelligible; the words are just disjointed sounds rather than anything approaching coherency, the bits Barnaby can make out wholly unconnected from each other. But he is definitely talking, at enough of a volume to keep the blond from falling back asleep, and when Barnaby tries to roll over and away he discovers the deathgrip Kotetsu has around his waist.

“Get off me,” he groans, angling his arm around so he can attempt to shove an elbow into Kotetsu’s ribs. This doesn’t work as well as planned, primarily because Barnaby’s motion stalls halfway and turns into more of a glancing impact than true force, but even so it  _should_  be enough to rouse the other man to wakefulness. Should, unfortunately, has only a passing relationship with reality when it comes to Kotetsu, and all the movement does is ensure his grip tightens and he shifts in closer against Barnaby’s back.

“Kotetsu,” Barnaby sighs. He tries dragging at the arm pinning him down to the bed, achieves no traction at all. “ _Kotetsu_.” He plants his hand on the mattress, presses in enough to shove himself backwards so he rolls them both over, tipping Kotetsu over with Barnaby’s weight atop him instead of the inverse. There’s a noise of protest, an inhale cut off into something between a cough and a sneeze, and then: “Bunny-chan?” like Kotetsu isn’t sure who he’s in bed with.

“Don’t call me that,” Barnaby says reflexively. “And let me go, I can’t breathe with how tight you’re holding me.”

“Why’re you awake?” Kotetsu asks, that vague confusion in his tone that always sets Barnaby’s teeth on edge.

“It’s not of my own volition,” he snaps, grabbing at the other’s arm to pull again, because if he can’t sleep neither is Kotetsu. “You were talking in your sleep. Again.”

“Mm,” Kotetsu purrs, his voice dropping low into suggestion. “Whispering sweet nothings to you?” His arm slides down, fingers trailing along Barnaby’s waist and to the line of his hip so they can brush against the elastic at the top of the other’s briefs.

Barnaby’s fingers come out all on their own, close with restraining force on the other’s wrist to stall the motion. “Unless you think babbling about a bookcase and a penguin is foreplay, then no.”

“Ah,” Kotetsu hesitates, stalled out for a moment by Barnaby’s whip-quick answer. Barnaby waits for the follow-up he knows is coming, the recovery never as slow as he could wish, and after a breath it comes, Kotetsu moving onto a different tack. “Well, I can always start now.”

“Kotetsu, that is  _not_  what I meant,” Barnaby protests, tries to break free again, but for all that he can stall the downward movement of the other’s hand he can’t actually wrest himself free of his hold without doing more actual injury to Kotetsu than he intends.

“You’re so mean,” Kotetsu says against the back of his neck. Barnaby can hear the pout under the sound of the words, doesn’t need to look back to see the face the other man is making, the one he thinks is persuasive and not just stupid. “It’s our  _honeymoon_ , we don’t even have work today.”

“That is  _not_  reason to--” Barnaby starts automatically, before realizing that that is  _precisely_  what honeymoons are for and cutting himself off before he’s finished the sentence. He can feel his cheeks going dark, his gaze fixed steady if somewhat myopically on the wall on the other side of the room, and then Kotetsu laughs and moves his mouth to the line of his bare shoulder.

“Do you really not want to?” he asks, the question teasing enough to be mostly rhetorical. His hand dips lower by an inch, taking advantage of Barnaby’s loosened grip, and Barnaby has to seize tight again and actively drag up to keep Kotetsu’s wrist from bumping against the giveaway at the front of his underwear.

“You  _woke me up_ ,” he complains, making the words sharp to keep them from dipping into trembling reaction in his throat. “You  _always_  wake me up. I want my own bed.”

“You can’t sleep without me!” Kotetsu protests, and he’s sitting up, sliding out so Barnaby drops back to the sheets underneath them and is left to blink up at the faint panic spreading across the other man’s face. “It’s only been two days, you can’t abandon me already, Bunny-chan!”

“That is plenty of time,” Barnaby snaps, shoves at Kotetsu’s shoulder even though it’s not hard enough to move the other. When he slides sideways its with the deliberate intention of getting off the bed, he’s sure, he’s really going to do it; the fact that Kotetsu’s arm is in the way is just a disadvantage, only a brief necessary pause, and there’s no way he could have expected the older man to lean in for a kiss in the moment of hesitation. Barnaby does turn away, but only barely, so in the end Kotetsu’s lips land at the very corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” Kotetsu protests without pulling away. The sound hums in against Barnaby’s skin. “At least let me claim a morning kiss from my husband.”

“Go away,” Barnaby tries to snap, but he’s starting to smile against his will, warmth spreading out into his blood from the sound of that word on Kotetsu’s lips. “Leave me alone, old man.”

“You’re so mean to me,” Kotetsu says, and his hand does come in sideways, then, Barnaby making no effort this time to push the other’s touch away. Kotetsu’s fingers drag over the soft of Barnaby’s underwear, trace out the shape of his cock under the fabric, and Barnaby can feel his too-wide smile start to form as he presses in against the heat. “You take advantage of my kind nature.”

“ _What_  kind nature?” Barnaby asks, adds “Pervert,” on the end for good measure, but he’s hooking his thumb in under the edge of his briefs, pushing the fabric down off his hip so he can strip away the thin barrier between his skin and Kotetsu’s. He is smiling now in truth, any attempt at restraint rendered useless by the warmth under his skin, and Kotetsu chuckles warm and low and satisfied as his fingers slide out over the texture of the blond’s cock.

“I’m not,” he protests, curls his thumb in around the base of the other’s length as his fingers fall into a line above. There’s a shiver that runs up Barnaby’s spine, reaction more electric than it is pleasure as yet, and Kotetsu drags up over him, unwinding warm into his blood.

“You are,” Barnaby insists, clinging to the outline of the argument as he reaches up to hook his arm around Kotetsu’s shoulders, lets his knees fall open and relaxed as the other’s hand strokes up over him. Kotetsu is smiling, his eyes still a little soft and hazy with sleep from what Barnaby can see, and he could see better if he reached up for his glasses but he’s not in the mood to pull his hands away from the morning warmth of the other’s skin. “Look at what you’re doing right now.”

“We’re  _married_ ,” Kotetsu says again, purring delight over the word until his smile dissolves into a laugh, until Barnaby can’t help but grin helpless to the joy in the other’s face.

“Yes, well,” he says, reaching for some sort of traction, but it’s difficult to find a reason to protest when Kotetsu is finding a rhythm to the motion of his hand and Barnaby’s spine is arching up off the bed to meet him. “We only had to  _get_  married because you were completely shameless.”

Kotetsu laughs at that, leans down to press a kiss against Barnaby’s mouth. Barnaby lets the contact linger for a moment, savoring the heat of Kotetsu’s sleepy smile against his lips; then he is pulling away after all, turning sideways and looking up so he can reach for the bedside table. He touches the glasses first, skips over them to reach up higher for the bottle of lube near the wall, and Kotetsu is pushing the blankets back and sliding down, kissing down the middle of Barnaby’s chest as the blond twists the top open and upends the bottle over his fingers.

“We’ve used up over half of this,” he observes as Kotetsu opens his mouth to lick against his skin, drags his teeth gently across Barnaby as he slides farther down. “You’re going to have to buy more before the week is over.”

“Why do I have to?” Kotetsu asks, sliding farther down Barnaby’s torso. His knees fit between the blond’s, the fabric of his boxers catching and dragging against the other’s skin. Barnaby can feel how hard he is through the fabric, nearly as flushed as Barnaby is himself.

He turns sideways, inadvertently pushing his hip towards Kotetsu’s lips instead of his stomach so he can get his slick fingers in behind himself. “It’s either that or we stop doing--”

“Fine,” Kotetsu capitulates, sighing like he’s resigning himself. “When we need it.”

“Good,” Barnaby says. Kotetsu is tugging at his clothes but he doesn’t move to either help or hinder; he’s distracted by his own movement, fitting his fingers behind his hip so he can press against his entrance. The motion is familiar, even the awkward angle of his wrist nearly ordinary; he doesn’t have to think about the movement of turning his hand to push a pair of fingers inside himself, can just shut his eyes and breathe hot into the sensation of the cool-slick friction.

“I love watching you do that,” Kotetsu offers from around Barnaby’s knees, tugging the other’s clothes free of his feet. Barnaby doesn’t open his eyes to angle a kick at the other man, knows he’s missed before he hears the huffed laugh of amusement in his throat.

“Shut up,” he says, feeling the flush of heat wash out over his skin and up his shoulders to his face. It’s part embarrassment, mostly arousal, the strange intrusive friction purring under his skin like sound made heat and undoing the usual tight-wound strain of his existence. Kotetsu is moving at the end of the bed, half-toppling over as he pushes his boxers free, but Barnaby doesn’t open his eyes to watch; he’s too caught in the slow inward slide of his fingers, the press of his fingertips in against himself, and while Kotetsu is still moving Barnaby is rolling forward onto the bed so he can breathe hard against the pillows, can tip his hips down and rock himself against the sheets.

“Bunny-chan,” Kotetsu says from over him, his voice dropping into that range he only ever gets during fights or in the bedroom. There’s a glance of contact at Barnaby’s hip, the warmth of an exhale at his shoulder, and Kotetsu’s knee sliding between his to brace the other man. “And you called me the pervert.”

“You’re the one watching,” Barnaby shoots back, but it’s hard to pay attention to the conversation; he’s twisting his wrist, angling his fingers in deeper and spreading them apart to stretch himself open, and all his focus is starting to fray away under the heat, his limbs going heavy and languid like he’s anticipating the satisfaction to come.

“Come on,” Kotetsu pleads, drags his fingers down the curve of the blond’s spine until his hand bumps the other’s. “You’re ready, right?”

“Don’t be impatient,” Barnaby snaps as he draws his hand back and eases his fingers out of himself. “Only because you don’t give me time to recover.”

Kotetsu hums a tone that might generously be called an apology and more likely taken as protest, but his knees are sliding in higher as Barnaby cants his legs open, unspoken offering of the almost-aching heat under his skin. Hands close at his hips, calluses from training and fighting both pressing in against his skin, and when Kotetsu leans forward it’s to breathe in against Barnaby’s hair before he starts to thrust in.

It’s an easy movement, the stretch made familiar by repetition over the last two days. Barnaby can feel the remaining tension in his body melting into capitulation, knocking him groaning and warm over the sheets, until it takes real effort to fit a hand down between the sheets and the hard shape of his cock pressed into them. He has to come up on his knees, as it turns out, tip his weight up enough to create the space for his fingers, but Kotetsu doesn’t so much as hesitate at this shift in his weight, just falls into pace with him as easily as if they were in the middle of a fight. The hold at his hips is more steadying than bracing, the rhythm of Kotetsu’s breathing against his shoulder falling rushed and hot with the friction, and Barnaby can feel himself giving way at each of the other’s thrusts, the movement slick and smooth and easy like this is how they were always meant to be. It makes it hard to breathe, swells his chest tight and almost-aching with emotion, and when he turns his head against the pillow to breathe the overheated air of his own exhales it serves as well to muffle the gasp of feeling in his throat as to turn his thoughts warm and hazy like he’s drifting back towards unconsciousness again.

He doesn’t know how long they are like that, his fingers stroking over himself in easy rhythm with the movement of Kotetsu’s hips. It’s unhurried, the promise of a wide-open day still lying before them to grant them both unusual patience, the reassurance of the ring on his finger to match the one pressing against his hip holding them together in name as well as in fact. In the end he’s not even expecting the pleasure, isn’t bracing or reaching for it as he so often does; it just breaks over him at once, a warm wave of satisfaction spreading into his veins, and the sound he makes into the pillows is more a groan of surprise than the strained desperation he is used to. His cock twitches in his hand, spills sticky over his fingers and across the sheets, and Barnaby would be more concerned about the mess if he weren’t in the middle of shivering through an orgasm that unwinds longer and longer and longer, until he’s still quaking with it when Kotetsu takes the anxious inhale over him that always gives away the other man’s impending climax.

“ _Bunny-chan_ ,” he groans, and Barnaby isn’t sure whether to growl or laugh and can’t manage either for how hard he’s still breathing against the pillows. Kotetsu goes stutter-still against him, gasping broken inhales like he’s been running for miles, and when he tips forward to fall heavy against Barnaby’s back the other can’t manage more than a token word of protest.

“Get off me,” he mumbles into the pillow, “You’re too heavy.” But he lacks the motivation to tip sideways and deposit Kotetsu onto the bed, and really it’s not completely unpleasant, the weight of someone else pressing in against him. His hand is still caught under his hips, the sticky at his fingers damp at his skin, but he’s still humming with pleasure from his orgasm, or maybe he’s tired and warm enough that he just doesn’t care at the moment.

“I love you, Barnaby,” Kotetsu says into his shoulder, slow and warm and content, and Barnaby starts to smile before he has even processed why those words should so warm a bubble of delight in his throat.

He doesn’t have to think about the laugh that spills from his lips to fall into a giggle against the bed, doesn’t have to pay attention to turn his head so he can look through his hair at the familiar features of Kotetsu lying against his shoulder. It’s all just intuitive, the easy reflex that he always had to fight for, before Kotetsu.

“I love you too.”

With the band of gold metal-cool against his finger, he doesn’t have to try so hard.


End file.
